Dear neighbor,
Sometimes I wonder: do you think about me in ways I don’t think about you? When you come to mind, for me, it’s “I hope they didn’t use our trash bin again,” or “why do we keep getting their mail” or “Didn’t they move?”
Is it the same for you? Or is it… different? More? I often wonder, dear neighbor, if you watch me in my yard; when I take the dog out and don’t bother to tie my robe all the way closed, or rush to cover the lawn chairs when it starts to rain and I forget a shirt.
Do you think of me, standing in your doorway? Water pooling at my feet, dripping of the long curling locks of dark hair that frame my face, broad chest heaving slightly having run to you for shelter? Of how the dampness might cause the thin grey fabric of my house pants to cling to my skin, letting you steal a glimpse at the outline of my cock when you think I’m not looking?
Do you touch yourself to me?
Innocently enough, at first, dear neighbor – absent-mindlessly running a finger across your collarbone while you watch me dig out a planter bed some afternoon, barely registering that your hand has slipped to your breast until you catch yourself about to pinch your nipple and find you other hand is clamped around your upper thigh?
Do you stop, dear neighbor? Turn away from the window to busy yourself with some other task about the house? Or do you stay there, hidden behind the curtain as you caress yourself, letting your hands wander over your torso, as you imagine mine would while our tongues danced in each other’s mouths? Do you let a hand cross your chest to the opposite breast and cup it fully, firmly, like I would? Do you dart a finger into your mouth to wet it before making quick circles around your nipple as you wish my tongue could right now? Seeing me work under the hot sun, would you imagine your hand running over my back, slick with sweat as you felt my mouth kiss down your stomach… would you slide your fingers under your waistband, spreading your lips and tracing small circles as you imagined me tasting you?
Maybe you’ve almost been seen. Maybe as I’ve turned to go inside you thought you saw me catch you, having become too preoccupied fondling your clit and thinking about me going down on you.
Would that be it, dear neighbor? Or would you realize I’d seen nothing and head to the bedroom to pull that nice 7” dildo out of its hiding place in your nightstand? Start gathering spit in your mouth before teasing the head in, still stroking your pussy with tour free hand as you imagine being on your knees in front of me. Taking more into your mouth, slurping away the excess wetness as you increased in speed, forgetting your original intention of simple lubrication as you feel it pass your soft palate. Do you think about my hands, dear neighbor? The hands that grip your head while you moan around my silicone cock as I start to fuck your throat?
Do you cum for me, dear neighbor? Do you cum thinking of me thrusting into your mouth until your chin hits my balls, again and again? Furiously rubbing your clit as you imagine what the base of my cock tastes like, or how it will feel when I hold myself there, shaft throbbing over your tongue as my head swells against your uvula and I pump a hot load of salty-sweet cum down your throat? Do you whimper around your plastic toy while you gush against your hand? Muffling your cries so I won’t hear you across the virtually nonexistent gap between our homes, trying to savor the throes of an orgasm but still so desperately hungry for more?
Would you laugh at yourself? At the slight absurdity of the situation? At how maddeningly horny you still are for some reason?! Or would you revel in it, dear neighbor? Roll onto your stomach and work a couple of fingers into you while grinding your mound against your palm, dreaming of how I’d plant my face between the back of your thighs, lashing at your cunt and up the crack of your ass with my tongue as a reward for swallowing every drop of me.
Or would you be too eager to warm yourself up, dear neighbor? Instead envisioning no break, no refractory period as I tossed you on the bed and mount you? Give yourself a couple of short strokes before slamming the dildo home, as deep into your pussy as you can, imagining I’ve pinned you to the bed and sheathe myself in your hungry cunt, over and over, demanding answers to growled questions like “you love getting fucked like this, don’t you?” and “Whose pussy is this?”
Would you answer me, dear neighbor? Would you writhe against your hand, focused on nothing but the thought of my hot breath against your neck and my cock inside you, moaning “yours, Daddy, all yours, yes, fuck me deeper” as every stroke of your wrist brought you closer to another orgasm. Would you roll onto your side, to take me deeper still? Giving yourself better leverage to apply the right pressure to build those waves within you? Would you imagine feeling my own strokes becoming stronger, as the simple desire to get off morphed into an uncompromising need to fill you with my seed?
Would you want that? To be bred by your dear neighbor? Would you buck your hips harder and harder against yourself, desperate to be filled to bursting with my cum? Would that, coupled with the ceaseless onslaught for my silicone cock, be enough to push you over the edge? To burst the damn of the orgasm that’s been welling up inside you since you spied me out the window what feels like hours ago? To imagine the force of my final stroke within you, and to feel your body tense every muscle, every fiber, momentarily contracting your entire existence to just those several inches of flesh and nerve endings before exploding in a shuddering flood of pleasure across your entire body as we came together, crying out and roaring and laughing as we collapsed into one another.
Would you lie there, breathless for a moment? Head swimming with freshly dumped chemicals and your body floating on a sea of warm feelings before slowly coming back to reality? Would your heart flutter in your chest l, dear neighbor, as your phone buzzed a moment later, my name flashed across your screen.
Would you clean your hands of me, dear neighbor? Or would you not have the capacity or care to wipe away the mess we made? Perhaps seeing your finger trail your juices across my contact photo would start you up again, that flutter sinking from your heart into you loins as you open my recent text…
It reads
“dear neighbor: got ur mail, will leave on porch.”
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/qvv7t3/dear_neighbor_mf